


In Case of Emergency Break Heart

by phonecallfromgod



Category: American Vandal (TV)
Genre: Accidental Love Confessions, Escape Rooms, Hot Guy Ashley Hanson, M/M, Team Bonding, mid-season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:05:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phonecallfromgod/pseuds/phonecallfromgod
Summary: On paper, Peter thinks doing an escape room as the end of the year party for the Morning Show sounds fun.In practically, agreeing to lock yourself in a room with 1) the person you acquitted of drawing the dicks, 2) the person you accused of drawing the dicks, and 3) the person you made the documentary about the dicks/are secretly in love with is pretty much the definition of insanity.





	In Case of Emergency Break Heart

Ironically, Christa was the one who had suggested they do an escape room as the Morning Show end of the year party. And at the time it had seemed more fun and exciting than going mini-golfing like they had for the last two years. Especially since Mr. Baxter had already vetoed Sam’s very enthusiastic proposal of indoor skydiving due to the liability issues.

This was of course planned out way before the dicks and _American Vandal_ and after-prom and the last week of Christa refusing to meet with them for a follow-up interview. 

“I mean I know she’s a senior and it’s exams, but there’s no way she’s _that_ busy,” Sam says bitterly, shoving a textbook into his backpack. 

Peter hums noncommittally. While he thinks their Christa and Van theory makes sense, he’s not as ready to jump to conclusions about her guilt the way Sam has. He’d done that already with Dylan and Mackenzie, and his integrity had paid the price. Though he has to admit that Christa’s consistent dodging of his requests for a follow-up strikes him as particularly suspicious. 

Still, he can’t draw any conclusions until he’s at least given her the chance to explain her side of the story. 

“God, you and your stupid journalistic integrity,” Sam says with an eye roll, throwing his bag over his shoulder as Gabi comes around the corner, twirling her car keys in hand. 

“Hey, you good to go?” She says to Sam and he nods. 

“I’ll see you tonight at the thing,” Sam says, and Peter hurries to get his stuff into his bag and get his bag zipped up. 

“Uh, actually, Gabi would it be possible for you to give me a ride maybe?” He says in a rush. “My mom has a meeting with a client, so I’m kind of on my own for getting home.” 

Peter lives a decent thirty-five minute walk from Hanover, and he doesn’t normally mind walking home, especially since it gives him a chance to decompress, but the sky has turned a threatening shade of purple and he’d rather not get caught in the rain halfway home. 

Gabi and Sam exchange a series of glances, and then Sam says “Um, actually, Gabi and I kind of need to talk in private?” 

Peter chews at the inside of his lip. Ever since after-prom things have been better between Sam and Gabi, but they’re still a bit rocky. Which is probably at least partially due to that segment he made about Sam’s possible motives for doing the dicks (not that he ever thought Sam would have done it but, still, even if Sam doesn’t get it, he had to be as impartial as possible), and Peter does feel bad about that. 

And he’d really thought things had gone more or less back to normal between the three of them, but this whole double look and secrecy is really throwing Peter off, and his stomach scrunches like a ball of rubber bands even as he nods and says, “Yeah, no problem. I’ll see you tonight at the escape room, Sam. Later Gabi.” 

“Later Peter,” Gabi says, and then the two of them are off down the hall, Sam playfully bumping against her shoulder and Gabi shoving him back before they disappear out a set of double doors, Peter left alone and feeling like someone had taken a hold of the rubber band ball in his stomach and pulled the whole mass tight before letting go. 

He manages to make it just a little over halfway home when the sky just opens up, soaking him through in less than two minutes. Peter’s just trying to walk as quickly as possible, his feet squishing in his shoes with every step, so he doesn’t recognize the car that’s pulled up beside him until someone’s honking at him and Dylan’s shouting, “Yo Pete!” out the driver’s side window. 

“Hey you want a ride man?” Dylan asks. “You’re fucking soaked.” 

“Yeah, yes please,” Peter says, blinking water out of his eyes, and crossing around the front to climb into the passenger side, which is piled up with CDs and trash. 

“Sorry about the shit, just move it over,” Dylan says. 

“Do you have like a towel or something I could put down?” Peter asks, as he knocks half a dozen empty cardboard fast food containers to the floor and climbs in. 

“Awww nah don’t worry about it,” Dylan says as Peter pulls the door closed behind him, Dylan pulling out before Peter even manages to get his seatbelt buckled. “Where’s your boy?” 

“Sam? Oh he’s with Gabi,” Peter says, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice as he attempts to wipe off his glasses. 

Dylan clicks his tongue in a way Peter thinks is supposed to be sympathetic. The glasses wiping has been basically entirely fruitless, all of his own clothing too damp to wipe them with, so everything’s a bit hazy and bleary. 

“Do you wanna come hang with me and the boys?” Dylan asks. “Spence got some really good shit from his cousin. Not that you'd have to smoke, you can just chill, I know your lungs are all fucked up and shit.”

All the after-school specials and anti-drug campaigns really hadn't prepared Peter for the fact that the only people who would ever offer him drugs would be, for the most part, incredibly chill about it. The well-rehearsed kneejerk to aggressively decline just felt kind of rude in the face of Dylan's earnestness.

“I should probably go home,” Peter settles on finally. “I'll need to change before tonight.”

“Oh fuck yeah,” Dylan says, drumming his hands excitedly on the steering wheel. “I’m so hype for this break out thing, I’ve totally broken down doors before!”

“Dylan it's not...You don't get to actually break anything. It's all like puzzle-solving.”

“What? We don't even get to break anything?”

“I mean, maybe?” Peter says with a shrug. “But probably not really.”

Dylan groans. “That is such bullshit. I guess I can't get high either if I'm gonna have to be doing puzzles and shit. I bet you're so good at that kinda thing, like after the dicks.”

“Yeah I'm alright, Sam is probably better though honestly,” Peter says, “Oh turn right here.”

It's true that the doc was his idea, and he had done all the voiceover, the editing, the directing. It was his passion project, not Sam's, but Peter couldn't pretend like Sam didn’t have a knack for putting the pieces together even better than he did.

He'd been nervous after after-prom, when Dylan had been so upset at finally seeing the doc that maybe whatever bizarre friendship they'd cobbled together would be over. But he'd seemed to bounce back okay and clearly was not pissed enough with Peter to leave him out in the rain, though he seemed to be still nursing some wounds thanks to Mac and Shapiro.

Peter had also elected not to tell Dylan their theory about Christa and Van. Partially because Peter didn't want to release that info until after they'd talked to Christa, whether or not she confessed to anything, and partially because things were already tense enough at the Morning Show with Sam barely able to hide his disdain.

Dylan pulls into Peter's empty driveway, letting out a low whistle. “Your house is _sick,_ Pete.”

“Ah, thanks,” Peter says. “And thanks for the ride, that was really awesome.”

“Hey, no, you and me? We're bros for life after what you did for me. You need _anything_ you just shout, alright?”

“Alright,” Peter says, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch upwards as he accepts the fist bump Dylan offers him.

“See you in a few hours,” Dylan says, as Peter collects his sopping wet bag and hops out the passenger side. Thankfully the rain has trickled off to a light drizzle, and honestly it's not like he can really get any _more_ damp as he fishes his keys out of his pocket and lets himself into the house through the garage.

His bag is soaked on the outside, but it’s lined, so most of his stuff is fine. He empties everything out onto the dining room table and stick his bag over a vent to dry before heading to the bathroom. Peter pulls his damp shirt off, throwing it into the bathroom hamper and digs out a washcloth to wipe off his phone which buzzes in his hand with a new snapchat from Sam. 

It’s a video out the window of, presumably, Gabi’s car and the rainstorm which has picked up again after it’s brief reprieve. 

_‘Pls tell me you’re not stuck in this’_

Peter sends him an unimpressed selfie in reply, no caption needed, damp hair and smudgey glasses enough of an answer, before throwing his phone and glasses on the counter and stepping into the shower. 

He’s surprised that Sam hasn’t replied to his snap and shoots him a quick _I’m not mad btw got a ride from Dylan_ text, even though he still is a little bit miffed that Sam wouldn’t let him tag along. Like, what could he possibly say to Gabi that would be _so_ private that it would matter if he heard part of it? 

Whatever, it doesn’t really matter now anyways. And Peter changes into dry clothes before heading upstairs to what his mom affectionately calls his ‘study’ so he can get to work editing what he thinks will be the final episode of _Vandal_. He’s in the middle of debating between two different edits of Ming passed out at after-prom and Christa’s incrimination when he gets a text back from Sam. 

_:))) glad ur okay can ur mom give me a ride to dinner gab has work_

Peter almost wants to be angry, but the ball of rubber bands in his stomach squishes in a way that’s not totally unpleasant. And besides, it’s always easier to edit when he has someone to bounce ideas with, and while Sam doesn’t quite have the filmic perspective that he does, he’s always been good at the emotional throughline. 

Peter likes that, the way they balance each other out, two ends of a teeter-totter, perfectly balanced even when everything around them is strange and unpredictable and so much weirder than they’d ever imagined.

Sam shows up about fifteen minutes later, and spends a little while leaning over the back of Peter’s chair while he edits, throwing out his opinion whether or not Peter actually asks for it. Though he starts to get a bit restless after a while and Peter concedes to leaving the editing for now and they end up sprawled on the floor playing Uno. 

“So,” Peter says, sorting the cards in his hand after Sam. “Stuff with you and Gabi okay?” 

“Yeah,” Sam says, putting down cards. “It went really, really well actually.” 

Peter looks down at his hand, “What did you, uh, need to talk about?” 

Sam shoots him a look. “It’s kind of private, dude.”

“I wouldn’t tell anyone.” 

“If I wanted to tell you I would have told you.” 

Peter isn’t quite quick enough to hide the hurt look on his face if Sam’s reaction is any indication. “Hey, look, I just. There’s some stuff that I need to talk to Gab about, but there’s lots of other stuff I only tell you about. It’s just, it’s complicated.” 

“Okay,” Peter says, but the mood has shifted and he doesn’t even feel bad about dealing Sam a whole stack of +4s. 

They have to cut their game short because Peter’s mom comes home talking a mile a minute about how she completely forgot that she had a dinner meeting and— _oh hello Sam how are you sweetie?_ —can I drop you off early with some money and you can get dinner? So him and Sam end up grabbing food at the burger place at the end of the strip mall where the escape rooms are. 

Sam’s gone to the bathroom, with strict instructions for Peter to order him an orange soda float, so Peter’s reading over the menu when a familiar shape appears in his peripheral. 

“Oh my god? Peter Maldonado!?” 

Peter’s head snaps up so quickly he knows he’ll be feeling it for a week as he stares like a deer in headlights at the tall, dark-haired, impossibly handsome face of Ashley Hanson. 

“Hi Ashley,” Peter says, his voice all liquidy like the runny yolk of an overeasy egg. 

“Dude, how _are_ you?” Ashley says, running a hand through his (beautifully wavy) dark hair and tucking his little server notepad into the pocket of his (well-fitting) polo shirt.

“I’m good,” Peter says, feeling his face starting to heat up under his gaze. He hates that he’s sitting down, and feels impossibly awkward and small. Which is kind of par for the course with Ashley Hanson. He’d been a senior last year when Peter was a freshman and had been one of the anchors on the Morning Show; handsome and so effortlessly cool in a way that had made him just seem to float a few inches off the ground, at least in Peter’s mind. 

He was also the first out gay person Peter had met at Hanover, which had explained both his own gay realizations and the huge hero-worship crush he’d developed. 

“I heard about your documentary, the thing with the dicks?” Ashley says. “I haven’t watched it yet but I’m super hype to check it out, a bunch of the other servers have been watching and they’re straight up _obsessed_.” 

“Oh...wow…” Peter says lamely. 

“Anyways, gosh, sorry, can I get you some drinks to start with?” Ashley asks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow and flipping his notepad back open. 

Peter orders Sam’s float and gets a shake for himself, and Ashley’s just left when Sam reappears from the bathroom, wiping his hands on his cargo shorts. 

“Are you okay dude?” he says, sliding back into the booth. “Your face is all...splotchy? Do you need your inhaler?” 

Peter shakes his head. “Um, Ashley Hanson is our server?” 

“Oh _shit_ ,” Sam says, eyes going wide. “Uhhhh, did he see the doc?” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, he said he’s going to watch it though.” 

“Oh fuck,” Sam says, unexpectedly and Peter opens his mouth to ask for clarification, but doesn’t get any farther when Ashley comes sweeping back in with their drinks. 

“Sam! Why am I not surprised? Can’t break up the dynamic duo,” Ashley says cheerfully. 

“Uh huh, hi Ashley,” Sam says in a flat, stiff voice. 

Ashley blinks in surprised, but shakes it off. “Alright, what can I get for you?” 

Sam orders his usual deep fried combo of chicken fingers and onion rings, while Peter gets some spicy burger special thing which comes covered in a mountain of grilled jalapenos. Sam practically winces when a server who isn’t Ashley drops it off on their table. 

“Why do you insist on torturing yourself like that?” 

“Jalapenos aren’t even that spicy, you’re just super white.” 

Sam makes a mock offended sound and flicks his folded up straw wrapper at Peter and Peter kicks him (gently) under the table. 

“Ow, fuck, okay, okay, I relent,” Sam laughs and the mood settles into something a lot more normal. 

Ashley comes back to check on them, and Peter of course has just taken a giant bite and ends up choking a bit as he tries to communicate that everything tastes great, Sam shoving his glass of water at Peter while his eyes water and he tries to clear his windpipe. 

“You okay buddy?” Ashley asks, and Peter thinks he might actually pass out when he touches his shoulder gently. 

“He’s fine,” Sam cuts in. “Pete, tell him your fine.” 

“I’m fine,” Peter manages to croak out and Ashley gives him a little pat on the shoulder, and then disappears for a second, only to reappear with a glass of ice water. 

“Here you go, man,” Ashley says, giving Peter a little lopsided grin, and Peter feels like he just might melt to the floor in a combination of embarrassment and adoration, gazing after him as Ashley goes to check on another table. 

Peter finally looks away but Sam is still gazing off in the direction Ashley left in, onion ring halfway to his mouth, which is set in a firm line. 

“Dude, what?” Peter asks, clearing his throat again and taking a sip of the water Ashley had brought him. 

“He didn’t need to— I already gave you my water,” Sam says, cryptically. 

“Okaaay,” Peter says slowly, but Sam just goes back to his food.

It’s a long few minutes later when Sam finally says, “You should tell him not to watch the doc.” 

“What?” Peter asks, covering his mouth as he chews. “Who?” 

“Ashley Hansen,” Sam says intensely. 

“Why?” 

“Are you just going to cycle through the Five Ws? What do you mean why? Because you left in the cut of— when I said you were in love with him. It’s in the doc. I just figured you wouldn’t want the person you have a crush on finding out like that,” Sam’s not looking at him anymore, eyes fixed down on his plate. “Like, I literally don’t even know why you kept that shit in the doc.”

“I don’t know why you care, I’m the one who had everyone shouting at me for a week like, _hey this kid jacks it to American Apparel catalogs_ ,” Peter says, trying and failing to keep the annoyance out of his voice. 

“Yeah but _you_ put that in the doc,” Sam says, jumping right on the heels of Peter’s words. “You _chose_ to keep it in but it’s like. Even though you did it, its like...its like _I_ did that to you. Like, Jesus Pete, I was literally saying whatever I thought would stop you from putting the segment in, I wasn’t trying to expose you.” 

Peter blinks, scrambling to try and grab a foothold in what Sam is saying, before saying slowly, cautiously, “It wasn’t really a big deal. I mean, especially since like, most people assume Ashley is a girl’s name, so it wasn’t even really like you...I don’t know, outed me? I don’t really care if people know I’m gay, like, if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

Instead of saying anything though, Sam just stares at him for a long few seconds and then blinks, shaking his head, “Alright, whatever.” 

Peter bites the inside of his lip. He knows Sam wants to just drop it, that’s how all their fights tend to play out. Peter does something that pisses him off, Sam blows up, ignores him for a few days, and then tries to pretend like nothing ever happened. And it would just be nice if for once Peter could actually get some goddamn closure in his personal life. 

Much like Peter himself, Sam never really ‘officially’ came out, more like he just started not censoring the fact that he was into guys. Which was fine, it was more than fine, but it was just another one of those things that they’d never really properly talked about, Sam always shrugging it off and saying ‘it’s not really a big deal’ whenever Peter tried to bring it up. He wasn’t even totally sure if Sam also likes girls or not, though all the stuff with Gabi makes him think the former. 

“I just thought we were cool,” Peter says finally. “You said you didn’t want us to ‘make it weird’ but it kind of feels like you’re still pissed. I thought things were okay with Gabi, I thought you understood why I needed to leave it in.” 

“I wasn’t talking about Gabi literally at all,” Sam snaps. “Why do you think everything is about Gabi?” 

“Uh, I mean, you sure did blow me off earlier because you needed to ‘talk to Gabi in private’ so…” Peter trails off as Sam rolls his eyes but he’s already a million miles away as the words click. 

Sam needed to talk to Gabi earlier. Wanted to talk about something private. 

And now all of a sudden he’s hung up on the idea of having your crush exposed to the entire school. 

The rubber band ball in his stomach and the jalapenos really are not getting along and Peter forces himself to take a deep breath and a long drink of water as Sam checks his phone under the table. 

Sam told Gabi he likes her. That’s got to be it. It has to be. And from Sam’s attitude….it went well. Maybe not ‘dating officially’ or whatever well, but the fact that Sam is here and not wallowing off somewhere is the smoking gun that she at the very least didn’t rebuke his affections. 

Which makes Peter kind of want to just slide under their table and wallow for a while, fuck escape rooms, fuck Ashley Hanson, fuck being right about Sam and Gabi this whole time no matter how hard Sam protested. 

Because Peter knows, in a way, that he’d made that segment just to see if Sam would refute it, would keep his hopes alive just a little longer so he could add it to the ever growing case file of ‘Things Sam Does That Maybe Make Me Think He Likes Me The Way I Like Him.’ Exhibit A, made an entire documentary with him even though he clearly thought Dylan was guilty. Exhibit B, denied he had feelings for Gabi. Exhibit C, smiled at Peter in history. Exhibit D, remembered that he hates sour skittles. All the way to Exhibit Z, which is that Peter really really really wanted it to be true. 

Maybe the spicy jalapeno burger was a bad idea after all. 

And god, Sam just has to be doing his stupid Look I’m So Busy Reading These Text Messages So It’s Not Even That I’m Ignoring You I Just Have So Much Going On routine, and smiling down on his phone and Peter thinks about if it would be possible to commit ritual suicide with nothing but those little plastic burger swords. 

Probably not. 

And not that he’s like, actually suicidal or anything. Jesus, he’s not that hung up it’s just that— 

Okay it’s like, his thing for Ashley? That was _never_ going to happen. Not the least of all because Peter was a sophomore and Ashley was in college, nevermind the fact that they’d existed on totally different levels of the Hanover High social ladder. His crush on Ashley Hanson is basically on par with his crush on Andrew Garfield. Something that made him a little tongue tied and stupid, but not something he had any delusions of going anywhere. 

But with Sam. With Sam it’s like he’s just one parallel universe away from a reality where they’re actually together. 

Where Sam gives him that same exasperated look but is calling him _babe_ instead of Peter. Where he loops his arm around Peter’s shoulders when they’re walking to class and kisses him hurriedly when he drops Peter off at the chem lab and Sam continues on to Spanish. Where they’re sitting in this exact same booth in this exact same restaurant and their legs are criss crossed together and Sam steals bites off his plate and offers him sips from his straw.

Or maybe Peter’s just deluded himself into thinking there was any reason to think that would be vaguely possible in the first place. His perception skewed by his closeness to the situation, like a side mirror; Warning: Dating Sam Ecklund May Be Less Realistic Than It Appears. 

“I’m going to go pay,” Peter says finally, because sitting is just making the wallowing worse, and it’s not like Sam is even looking at him right now.

“Oh hey no,” Sam says, scrambling for his bag. “I have money,” 

“My mom gave me cash, it’s cool,” Peter says. “Seriously, it’s fine. You can buy me an iced coffee or something tomorrow if it’s going to bug you, but like, you don’t have to.” 

Sam chews on the inside of his lip, and for a long second Peter thinks he’s going to fight him on it, but he finally just slumps against the booth and goes, “Yay for free food I guess,” with a halfhearted shrug. 

Ashley doesn’t end up cashing him out, which thank god, Peter can only handle making a fool of himself in front of one person he’s hopelessly attracted to at a time. When he returns to the table Sam is smiling down at his phone, quickly flipping it over onto the table when he notices Peter. “Good news?” Peter asks, trying too hard to sound nonchalant, Sam scrunching up his face suspiciously. 

“Just talking to Gab,” Sam says, poking his straw at the melty remains of his ice cream float. 

“About anything...particularly?” Peter asks. 

“Dude, can you not ask me stuff like I’m someone in the doc you’re interviewing,” Sam says, completely dodging the question. “We’re just talking about life and shit, it’s not that deep.” 

“Sorry,” Peter mutters, and he knows he’s kind of being a dick, but the thought of having to be locked in a room for like the next hour with Sam who is clearly riding on the emotional high of having told Gabi about his crush on her and having had it gone okay kind of makes Peter want to revert back into a single-celled organism. 

As it is though, Peter swallows hard and pushes his amoebic desires as far down as they’ll go and tries hard to just pretend everything is fine as they make their way out of the restaurant and over towards the escape rooms. And it does seem to get a tiny bit easier, Sam poking him in the side and thanking him for dinner, though he does scowl when Ashley Hanson waves them off from behind a huge platter of mozzarella sticks, which Peter doesn’t totally understand but whatever. 

Madison and Christa are already at the escape room place, sitting in the waiting area chatting about the AP European History exam they were both dreading on Monday, clipboards with waiver forms on their laps. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” Sam says, tapping Peter on the arm before disappearing around the counter, Christa handing him the waiver and a pen so he can read it over. It’s the standard stuff like, you can’t sue us if you somehow hurt yourself and/or die, and Peter honestly doesn’t even need to read the whole thing but it’s legally binding and it’s not like he has anything better to do. He’s just finishing signing when Dylan bursts through the doors looking a little frantic and out of breath. 

“I’m here! I’m here!” he exclaims. “I’m not late!” 

Christa exchanges a glance with Peter, which is some real unexpected comraderie coming from her, “Uh, yeah, no dude we’re not going in for like another fifteen minutes,” Peter says. 

“What!? But I thought we were starting at 6:30?” Dylan says, completely oblivious to Madison trying to hand him a clipboard. 

“Nope, we’re booked in for a 6:45 slot,” Christa says slowly. 

“But…” Peter can practically see the wheels turning in Dylan’s brain. “Alright, okay,” he finally says with a shrug and takes the clipboard from Madison, who catches Peter’s eye and gives him a head tilt of admittance that she lied and told Dylan it started earlier than it did so he wouldn’t be late. Which Peter has to admit is pretty smart with Dylan’s track record of showing up to the Morning Show about a minute before they go live. 

“Ayyo Pete where’s your boy?” Dylan says, flipping to the last page of the waiver and signing with a flourish, not even giving the pretense of actually reading it 

“He’s just in the bathroom,” Peter says, rubber bands stretching and then snapping with the emotional whiplash over Dylan calling Sam ‘his boy.’ The rush of elation followed by a harsh reminder enough to break his vow of Not Going To Think About It for a hot second. 

“Listen, I wanna be on your team, you guys are are like, fucking Scooby Doo with that mystery solving,” Dylan says as Sam re-emerges from the bathroom, and Peter’s not totally sure, but it sort of looks like he’s played with his hair a bit with his damp hands. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asks, tucking his hands under his arms. 

“Dylan wants to be on our team,” Peter says. 

“We don’t get to pick teams,” Madison says, displeasure evident in her voice. “They assign us randomly before we go in.” 

“ _Buuuummmer_ ,” Dylan says, clasping Peter hard on the shoulder and flopping into one of the waiting room chairs. Phil shows up almost immediately after with Randall and Ming, who he drove over, and then finally Emily, looking a little bit flustered and muttering something about her cat having gotten out just as she was about to leave. 

“Are we all here?” Christa asks, standing and doing a headcount as an almost overly enthusiastic middle-aged man hovers behind her, ready to walk them through the instructions as soon as Christa confirms they’re all ready. 

“Alright Morning Show! Can I get a _whoop whoop_!” The guy asks, shoving the clipboard he’s holding under his arm so he can do a little ‘raise the roof’ motion, dropping his arm and clearing his throat after a long second when no one does it back. “Anyways I’m Bryan and I’ll be walking you through the procedure here at Oceanside Escapes this evening. We’ll be splitting you into two teams first, so if everyone will take a card…” 

He fans out a handful of cards and lets them pick, Madison and Phil both lunging immediately to grab theirs. Peter ends up with the last card, nine of hearts, and Sam immediately bumps him with his shoulder, showing him his own card, the three of hearts. 

“Right so we should have four hearts and five spades,” Bryan continues. “Both of the rooms you’ll be in are our medium level puzzles, but we do consider one slightly harder so we’ll give that to our team of five.” 

“Yo!” Dylan exclaims, flipping around his own jack of hearts to show Peter and Sam, “Team Vandal whaddup!?” 

To be honest, if Peter got to choose he’s not entirely sure that Dylan would be his top pick, but he has to admit, Dylan’s enthusiasm about being on their team is really flattering. Even if Peter’s not totally sure how much help he’s going to be at doing logic puzzles and games.

“Wait so who’s the fourth heart?” Sam asks and Christa very slowly turns her card around, ace of hearts. Sam’s eyes widen and Pete can practically hear his thoughts, _no fucking way. _

While Peter still has a certain level of reasonable doubt about the Christa theory, and while he refuses to finish the last episode of the doc without letting her speak on her own behalf, Sam doesn’t really share his view of journalistic caution. Which has lead to things being especially tense around the Morning Show in the last few weeks as Christa has continued to refuse to sit down with them for an interview. He can’t imagine that Christa is particularly thrilled to be locked in a room with either of them, let alone Dylan Maxwell. 

“Alright, so,” Bryan says, “whoever has the closest birthday in each group, you’ll be our team leaders and I’ll put you in charge of the timer as well as the clipboards for any rough work you’ll need to do.” 

“Oh hey, Pete that’s probably you, cause you just had your birthday, May 15th,” Sam says. 

“I’m June 5th,” Christa says. 

“Oh so she’s a Gemini. Two-faced,” Sam says, half under his breath to Peter. He’s pretty sure Christa hears Sam, but she doesn’t give any indication one way or another as she accepts the clipboard from Bryan, who turns to explain the scenario of their room to the other team. 

“What are the fucking odds,” Sam says, properly under his breath as Dylan takes a selfie on his phone and Christa looks stiff and displeased, clutching the clipboard. 

“This is going to be so dope,” Dylan says, “I was scared earlier Pete when you said it was all puzzles and shit, but you guys are mad smart. And you too Christa.” 

“Yeah, Christa’s really smart,” Sam says pointedly and Christa rolls her eyes. 

“Look, can we not? We’re supposed to be having team bonding, can we drop it for literally an hour?” 

Sam rolls his eyes, but doesn’t say anything else, until Bryan comes over to explain their room to them. It has sort of a detective noir theme, the four of them having been hired by the wife of a wealthy tycoon who she believes is cheating on her. They have to find not only the keys to escape, but also a piece of evidence to bring back to the wife. 

“There is an extra key on the back of the door if anyone needs to leave for any reason,” Bryan explains, “but once a team member leaves they are not allowed to come back in the room, so it’s really just for emergencies.” 

Sam seems pleased enough as they get locked in the room, which has been decorated like the office befitting a wealthy 1920s tycoon, that he keeps any further comments to himself. 

It also helps that Christa is pretty on the ball with the problem solving, and the four of them are too consumed with the puzzles once they get into the room to be talking about much else. Or well, okay, more just the three of them, since Dylan really isn’t contributing much other than keeping an eye on the time. 

They breeze through the first two puzzles in the first thirty minutes, the first one using a pretty easy-to-follow code with the letters that match up to numbers on the rotary phone dial, which are the combo on a lock, and then the second a slightly more difficult puzzle — a code with a deck of cards that spell out the location of a folder of photos. 

Maybe it’s the first two puzzles which give them a false sense of ease, as they start on the next one and then get hopelessly stuck. 

“We should use our hint,” Sam says, as they try, and fail, for the third time to correctly add up the numbers on different photos in the folder into a correct combination for the safe.

Christa shakes her head, glaring down at the clipboard. “If this isn’t even the last puzzle, it’s just going to get harder. We should save it.” 

“Okay, but we’re not even going to make it to the last puzzle if we can’t get past this one,” Peter points out diplomatically. 

“Yes, thank you Peter,” Sam says smugly. 

“Let me just try one more time,” Christa says, turning back to her column of numbers. “Ugh, this stupid pen is dying. Do either of you have a pencil?” 

“I do!” Dylan blurts, launching himself from where he’d been chilling in the desk chair, his feet kicked up on the desk. “I have a pencil.” 

He pulls it out of his pocket triumphantly, like he’s brandishing excalibur, Sam turning to give Peter the most incredulous grin that makes the rubber band ball in his stomach do a stupid little double bounce. Christa seems a little skeptical, but impressed nonetheless as she takes the pencil from Dylan. 

But even the small miracle of Dylan Maxwell being over-prepared doesn’t magically make the number work on the lock and Christa finally has to secede that Sam is right and they need to use their hint if they want any chance of getting to the bottom of this puzzle. 

And it kind of fucking sucks, because the trick to the puzzle just turns out to be that they’d missed one of the numbers in the picture so their combo was coming out wrong. 

“Wow, awesome, glad we wasted our hint on that,” Christa says, annoyed, as she pulls the safe door open with a very atmospheric creak and pulls out a small— well, Peter would probably describe it as a jewelry box, but it’s held shut with another combination lock in an almost comical point of contrast. 

“Oh hello,” Sam says, reaching into the safe and pulling out an envelope. “I think this is our proof.” 

He hands the letter to Peter, who pulls it out of the envelope and starts looking it over. “Yeah, you’re right, it’s a birthday letter to the mistress.” Peter frowns, however, when no obvious code jumps out to him, unlike the other puzzles which were generally pretty straightforward about what was needed to complete the puzzle, even if the solution wasn’t always super obvious. 

“Let me see,” Christa says, gesturing for the letter, but she frowns too. “Yeah, maybe this isn’t, maybe this isn’t the clue?” 

“Hey we’re at five minutes,” Dylan says, almost cheerfully. 

“Cool, thanks,” Sam says as he tries to read over Christa’s shoulder. “How many numbers in the combo?” 

“Uhhhh, four,” Peter says looking at the little jewelry box. “So yeah, we’re looking for four digits.” 

“I’m just gonna start looking for other clues,” Christa says after a long second and starts rifling through the desk drawers. 

“Maybe there’s something on the letter,” Sam says, tapping Peter on the shoulder. “Like when you hold it up to the light or something.” 

It’s a good idea, but ultimately a fruitless one as Peter holds the letter up to the light to no avail. “Maybe it’s like, the first letter of every paragraph or something, and then turn that into a number that matches the letter of the alphabet?” Peter suggests.

“That really sounds like you’re overthinking it,” Christa says, literally on her hands and knees, testing the floorboards to see if any of them are loose.

“Well it makes more sense than there being a hidden extra clue, like it’s _clearly_ gotta be linked to the letter,” Sam says. “But hey I guess if we can’t solve it in time, you can always erase the camera footage and we can make it look like we solved it in time.” 

“Wow, okay,” Christa says, getting up off of her hands and knees, brushing her hands off, and looking to Peter. “You call this impartial journalism? God whatever, think whatever you like, I’m going to solve this stupid puzzle.” 

She gestures for the letter from Peter, whirling on her heel to look at it on the desk. 

Sam huffs angrily at Peter. “I mean, she kind of has a point,” Peter says diplomatically. 

“Dude, are, are you fucking serious?” Sam hisses. “She _didn’t know CPR_!” 

“Right but like,” Peter says, “I mean theoretically, maybe she just panicked and forgot in the moment, or maybe if Van was teaching her she wasn’t paying that much attention because you know, that’s her boyfriend. Like people get distracted by people they like all the time.” 

“No they don’t,” Sam snaps. 

“Are you telling me you’ve _never_ been distracted by Gabi?” Peter snaps back before he can reconcile the fact that that is a very, _very_ bad idea. 

Sam flinches. “What does _that_ mean? I don’t like Gabi. You know I don’t like Gabi, I have literally told you a hundred times.” 

“Oh hey,” Dylan says. “Two minutes.” 

“Right, sure, but evidence can seem really obvious but still be wrong. So maybe it _seems_ like Christa did the dicks but she didn’t. And maybe you say you’re not in love with Gabi but the evidence seems to suggest that you actually are and— ” 

“Oh my _fucking_ god,” Sam says. “For the last fucking time I am _not_ in love with Gabi—” 

“—Alright but objectively—” 

“—ObjectivelyI am in love with _YOU_!” Sam snaps, voice jumping into a shout from the annoyed stage whisper they’d carried out the rest of the conversation in. 

There’s a long stretched silence afterward that seems to stretch on and on and on before finally breaking, “Are you guys seriously doing this _right now_!? With two minutes on the clock?” Christa snaps, voice frayed with annoyance as realization dawns on Sam’s face and he slowly starts to flush bright red, dropping his gaze to the floor. 

“Actually, it’s more like, a minute and twenty seconds,” Dylan offers helpfully. 

“Cool, awesome, thanks Dylan,” Christa says, voice mellowing as she rubs a hand over her forehead. 

“Yeah, no prob dude,” Dylan says cheerfully. 

“I— ” Peter tries, feeling like he’s in a dream, everything softly floating around him while his own body feels weighed down in quicksand as his brain spins trying to make sense of what Sam just said. “What?” 

Sam looks up suddenly from the floor, but he doesn’t look at Peter, instead, realization dawning on his face as he spins towards Christa. “Birthday,” he says abruptly. 

“What?” Christa says. 

“It’s a birthday letter, try the date. Her birthday is the lock combo.” 

Christa’s eyes widen and she goes scrambling for the box, Peter still stuck to the spot as she manages to get the box open, pulling out the key and letting out a delighted little shriek. 

“Okay, c’mon, c’mon,” Christa says, wiggling the key into the lock, Peter managing to unstick his feet from the floor, the four of them making it out of the room with the letter and twelve seconds left on the clock. 

Bryan beams at them delightedly, and okay maybe it’s a tiny bit of a bummer to see that Madison, Phil, Randall, Ming, and Emily are already out of their room, wearing pirate hats and eating fake gold chocolate coins from their pirate themed room. But Christa is clearly elated enough about their last-minute save that she gives all three of them hugs, Peter accepting a little dazed. 

His mind is still spinning, like a car tire stuck in soft earth, moving forward but not actually going anywhere as he’s ushered into the group photo, Dylan shoving a giant fake wooden key into his hands as Bryan takes pictures on several different people’s smartphones. 

Madison, Christa, and Emily are still taking selfies while Randall and Phil fake fight with foam swords when Peter manages to come out of himself a little bit, Dylan waving a hand in front of his face. 

“Hey, earth to Pete, you alive in there?” Dylan says good naturedly. “That was cool as fuck in there, Sam with that last minute save.” He holds his hand in front of his mouth, kissing his fingers like a chef on a cooking show. 

“Yeah,” Peter says, his voice sounding all weird and hollow, trying to look at Sam without looking at Sam, who is hovering at the periphery of everyone, staring down intently at his phone. 

“It’s kinda weird, actually,” Dylan says thoughtfully. “Like, you’d think that hanging out with you guys would kinda suck because of like, you know, me and Mac being over. But it actually kinda makes me feel better? Like love is real and shit, you know?” 

Peter does not know, at all actually, but before he can ask Dylan for any clarification on what the actual fuck he’s talking about, Madison is loudly announcing that they’re going back to the burger place for dessert, Phil and Randall putting their foam swords back reluctantly. 

Peter’s still kind of just listlessly following the herd into the restaurant when Sam catches him by the sleeve, tugging him slightly. “Hey, can uh, can we talk?” Sam says, his voice pitched down low as Emily laughs loudly at Ming’s dramatic reenactment of something from their escape room. 

“Yeah— uh, where?”

“There’s benches outside,” Sam says.. “Unless you wanna…?” 

“No, outside is good,” Peter says.

“Randall, save us spots!” Sam calls to their cameraman, who turns and gives them a thumbs up, Peter following Sam’s lead out of the restaurant and sitting down on the bench just to the left of the door, which is, thankfully, out of view of the windows of the restaurant. Cause really the last thing Peter needs is Ashley Hanson witnessing literally any of this. 

Sam hovers beside the bench for a long moment, taking a long breath before sitting down, like he’s steeling himself before going onstage. 

“So uh,” Sam says, and then pauses for a long moment, licking his lips and running a hand over his face. 

“Wait, sorry before you start, can I just ask you something?” Peter asks, and Sam hesitates for a moment before nodding. “Okay so remember how Gabi invited you to go to Nana’s Party with her but I didn’t know, so I invited you over to watch _Crimson Peak_ , and then later you told me she’d invited you first but you still came over? And you just said like, oh you wanted to hang out with me more than you wanted to go to some dumb senior party?” 

“Yeaaah,” Sam says slowly. 

“Did you do that because like….you like me?” Peter says.

“...What?” Sam says. 

“Or, or, okay, like,” Peter continues, too far gone to turn back now. “Or like, remember when you were covering for Christa during the anti-bullying assembly and our legs were sort of touching under the desk but you never moved away? Or when you convinced Gabi to drive to In-N-Out and get me lunch after my presentation got all messed cause of the projector in World Issues? Was any of that because….you know, you like me? And like, more than a friend like me?” 

Sam blinks at Peter for a long second, and then finally says, “ _What_?” 

“Sorry, did I say that too fast?” Peter asks. 

“No you didn’t— are you seriously— I just told you I’m...that I like you, and you’re pulling up receipts? Were you— have you been like….investigating this?” Sam asks incredulously.

“No, I’m not, like _investigating_ , I’m just trying to confirm if things that, things that _I wanted_ to be signs that you liked me were actually, you know, signs that you liked me…” Peter trails off half heartedly, pulling the sleeves of his sweater over his hands. 

“That _you_ wanted to — um, do you...?” Sam asks hesitantly, the unfinished end of his sentence _do you like me too_ hovering in the warm June night air like the after imprint of a neon sign behind closed eyelids.

Peter nods, slowly at first and then more firmly. _Yes. I do, yes._

Sam lets out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, curling over into himself, head almost between his knees as he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, “Fuck, oh my god, thank fuck.” 

Sam pulls himself up a little further, but he’s left one hand hovering over his eye, like he still can’t quite look Peter in the face. “I had this whole speech prepared about how like, I didn’t want this to change anything and it was obviously okay that you didn’t feel the same way and that I was fine with it, but that was totally going to end with me going home and like, drowning my sorrows in those frozen Costco garlic knots my mom buys and sending really pathetic texts to Gabi about your eyelashes.” 

“Oh,” Peter says kind of uselessly, hesitating for a second before putting the flat of his palm against Sam’s curved back, Sam freezing for a second before melting into it. 

“But you...me?” Sam says, gesturing between the two of them, finally actually looking Peter in the face for the first time, a shyness and hesitation in him that Peter can’t ever remember seeing before. 

“I, uh, you,” Peter says with a laugh. 

“Me too,” Sam says, grin spilling over onto his face like a cup overflowing. Peter’s hand is still resting on Sam’s back and Sam shuffles ever so much closer to Peter, running his pointer finger over Peter’s knuckles and the ball of rubber bands in Peter’s stomach just kind of...unravels.

“Jesus I cannot believe you _annoyed_ me into telling you. You’re going to make such a good investigative filmmaker,” Sam says. “Like, honestly, I’m impressed, I had this whole like twelve point plan of seduction. But nope, one hour locked in a room with you and I just showed my hand.” 

“Wait,” Peter says. “So what were you talking to Gabi about then, if you weren’t telling her that you liked her...” 

Sam gives him an unimpressed side glance. “I’ll give you one guess, Peter.” 

“What...Oh!” Peter says, earning a snort from Sam. 

“God you’re so fucking dumb, why do I even like you?” Sam must catch the flicker on Peter’s face because he’s suddenly backtracking at like double the volume. “Dude, I’m totally kidding you’re like the smartest person I know and every time you raise your hand in class I’m like, going out of my goddamn mind because I know you’re going to ask something totally brilliant and insightful and it’s going to make me like you even more and it’s kind of fucking embarrassing, dude.” 

Sam ducks his head shily for a second and then adds, “Also just like, for the record. I’m gay. Like Kinsey-six-gay gay. That’s one of the things I wanted to talk to Gabi about...that and well...you know.” 

“I love the way you’re constantly fixing your hair,” Peter blurts, feeling like he needs to catch up on the ultra specific love confessions. “It just makes me wanna like….mess it up,” Peter says adding a vague gesture that’s really more jazz hands than anything else. 

“I mean...you could...if you wanted to,” Sam says cautiously and Peter ascends to a whole different plane as realization of what Sam is implying dawns on him. 

“Can you just uhhhh,” Peter says, and he shifts on the bench so he’s facing Sam a little bit more full-on. “Can you just like...” he reaches out and gently adjusts Sam’s face so they’re lined up a bit more squarely. 

“Pete, oh my god,” Sam says, but his voice is weighed down with a affection, and seriously he’s right, Peter is kind of an idiot for not putting this together sooner. 

Peter shushes him and places a gentle hand on his cheek, Sam’s eyes falling closed. He’s leaning in when he hesitates. “Do you think I need to take my glasses off?” 

“ _Peter_ ,” Sam says, exasperated, eyes flickering open. 

“No, but like,” Peter protests.”I don’t want to hurt you, and I feel like the wire might kind of dig in?” 

“Oh my god, come here,” Sam says, and physically pulls Peter towards him by the face, their mouths almost but not quite totally lining up, most of Sam’s lower lip actually in the space between his mouth and nose. Which honestly might be for the best because Peter is still scrambling to comprehend that _Sam is kissing him holy shitballs._

Sam tilts his head, readjusting, and when he kisses him a second time his lips are pressed perfectly against Peter’s and Peter can feel the slightly damp press of his lower lip against his own mouth and _fuck_ he should probably be doing something with his hands right? And Sam _had_ given him permission, so Peter reaches up and tangles his fingers in Sam’s stupidly perfectly gelled hair and Sam lets out this little helpless noise that Peter knows immediately he’s going to be jerking off to the memory of for _weeks_. 

Sam pulls away first, his hands having fallen from the sides of Peter’s face, now bunched up in the fabric of Peter’s hoodie, and he ever so slowly lets go. “See, didn’t hurt at all,” Sam finally says, breathlessly. 

“Great,” Peter says, almost a little disappointed in how well Sam’s hair had stayed in place. “So...now what?” 

“God, fuck if I know,” Sam says, running a hand over his flushed face, “I guess we like...go on a date? Or something?” 

“I mean, this is kind of a date already?” 

Sam scrunches his face. “My concept of a date does not involve all seven of the people we work with on the Morning Show.” 

“Fair,” Peter says.

“I mean, you did say I owed you an iced coffee so, maybe that would be a good, you know, date?” 

“Oh yeah, okay, good idea,” Peter says and Sam snorts. “What?” 

“Nothing you just, you said it like you were agreeing with my idea for a group project or something. I dunno, it was just, it was cute.” 

Peter nods slowly, and then after a long moment says, “I guess we should probably go back inside so people don’t think we ditched or whatever.” 

“Do you think Christa’s already told everyone about...you know?” 

“Oh, I don’t think so, probably not,” Peter says, standing and offering a hand to Sam, who takes it, and holds on for a long few seconds after he stands before letting go. 

“I admire your positivity but I think you’re wrong,” Sam says, pulling the door open for Peter, and is promptly proven right when they round the corner and all of their fellow Morning Show people start hooting, Phil letting out a super loud wolf-whistle as they sit down at the table. 

“Finally, fucking _finally_ ,” Randall says, clapping Sam hard on the back. “You know how much shit I saw when we were filming the doc? So much. So. Much.” 

Sam rolls his eyes at Peter, who sits in chair beside him, across the table from Dylan who’s a good two-thirds of the way through a brownie sundae. 

“Hey,” Dylan says, voice pitched low, “So I’m real happy for you guys, but I totally thought you guys were already like, a thing? Or well okay, Ganj thought it first and like, she’s a lesbian so I trust her word on like, gay shit, but then I started noticing it too but we all thought you were just keeping it on the downlow, you know? Cause people are shitty sometimes.” 

“Right,” Peter says slowly, and then, “Wait sorry, you thought me and Sam were already together, since when?” 

Dylan shrugs, “I dunno, since the dicks I guess? You just kinda reminded me of how me and Mac used to be, like finishing each other's sentences and shit.” 

“And that’s what you meant earlier about….believing in love?” 

“Yeah, like, I know it’s corny and shit,” Dylan says with a shrug, “but kinda makes me feel like my Sam is still out there. And like, my Sam would be a girl though. It’s cool that you’re gay, but boobs are just so fucking great.” 

“Amen,” Madison says beside Dylan, which Peter is pretty sure is the closest he’s ever seen to a moment of mutual respect between the two of them. 

“Hey, the dynamic duo, back again,” Ashley Hanson says, suddenly appearing at the edge of their table. “What can I get started for you guys?” 

“Uhhhh,” Peter says, crush brain not quite overridden by the fact that him and Sam are now... _something_. “Sorry, gimme a second, I haven’t looked yet— ” 

“Pete, you literally always get the cappuccino cheesecake,” Sam says, slinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a little squeeze. “Do you really think you’re going to suddenly mix it up?” 

“I might,” Peter says, his indignity getting cut a little bit short by the fact that he’s still sort of reeling from the fact that Sam’s arm is pressed around his back, and Ashley is looking at him with a sort of fond pleased expression.

“Cool, he’ll get the cheesecake,” Sam says. 

“Sounds great, you want anything Sam?” 

“Nah, just bring two forks.” 

Peter squawks. “No, he’ll get his own piece, thanks Ashley.” 

Ashley gives them a little salute with his notepad as he walks off, and Peter turns his head to look at Sam, who looks like the proverbial cat who got the cream. 

“Just because we’re, like, together now doesn’t mean that you get to mooch my shit,” Peter says, elbowing Sam so lightly in the side it’s more a pantomime of the action than anything else. 

“Boo,” Sam says, and Peter half expects him to take his arm back, but it stays there, snuggly around the back of his chair, even as Sam talks animatedly to Randall about _Captain America: Civil War_. Sam doesn’t end up moving his arm until Ashley returns with their cheesecake, and Peter feels pretty certain if Sam didn’t need his right hand to eat he’d probably have left it there longer. 

“See, you need someone to mooch because otherwise this is what happens,” Sam says, gesturing at the last few bites of cheesecake left on Peter’s plate before helping himself. 

Madison gets up from the table to go pay the check with the money Mr. Baxter had given her from the Morning Show budget, and Ashley reemerges with a plastic bin to collect all their dishes. 

“How was everything?” he asks sweetly, piling plates together and Sam sneaks his arm back around Peter’s shoulder as he gives a thumbs-up in response, Ashley grinning at the two of them fondly as he hefts the bin onto his hip. 

“Yeah, no it was great, thanks,” Sam says a little shortly, arm tightening around Peter’s shoulders as Ashley walks off. 

“Dude,” Peter says, realization dawning on him, “are you...are you _jealous_ of Ashley Hanson?” 

Sam flushes bright red on the back of his neck, and opens his mouth once and closes it before saying, “Okay, before I want to answer I want to point out that you made a seven-minute video about my alleged crush on Gabi and ended it with how ‘troubling’ you found it.” 

“Fair point.” 

“But also, yeah, duh, obviously. Ashley is hunky as fuck and he was like, the first dude you ever liked. It’s a lot to compete with.” 

“That is unbelievably precious,” Peter says. 

“You’re unbelievably precious,” Sam quips back teasingly, but it fills Peter with a wave of hot to cold pin-pricks anyways. 

Dylan offers them rides home, and after saying goodbye to everyone else, and one last interview request directed at Christa, who politely declines as always, they’re off towards Sam’s house. 

Peter had sat in the front seat, because sitting in the back with Sam had seemed like kind of a shitty way to make Dylan feel like a taxi driver, but that doesn’t stop him from getting out of Dylan’s car to say goodbye to Sam. 

“So uh, I’ll see you tomorrow I guess,” Sam says, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Peter says, the two of them hovering awkwardly in the brightness of Dylan’s headlights. A few feet of distance between them like they’re middle schoolers at a dance, neither one brave enough to make the first move. 

“Bright and early,” Sam says, and then winces. “I don’t know why I said that.” 

He leans in to kiss Peter, and it lands in the weird no-man's-land between his cheek and his mouth and he’s really not sure which one Sam was aiming for but he looks sheepish when he pulls away. 

Peter hands twitch, the urge welling up in him to do something, to smooth down where Sam’s shirt collar is lying awkwardly over top of his American Apparel track jacket or touch his jaw or _something_. And Peter’s never ever been good at confrontation— but god if he can’t even do it once when Sam did it three times in one day what kind of maybe-almost-boyfriend is he?— so he lets the urge well up in him, hauling Sam back towards him for a proper kiss. 

Or well ‘proper’ is maybe overstating it a little bit because Peter is way too tense, eyes squeezed shut and hands balled into fists on the collar of Sam’s jacket and his mouth pressed too tightly, but he’s doing it! And Sam makes another wonderful little involuntary noise, his hand coming to rest on the small of Peter’s back, urging him to relax ever so slightly. 

Peter’s relaxation is very short lived however as there’s a loud _BANG_ of a window being opened and Gabi’s voice from ten feet above them exclaiming, “ _HOLY SHIT!?”_

“Oh, hi Gabi,” Peter says stupidly as Sam oscillates wildly between embarrassed and smug, looking between Peter and up at Gabi who is half leaning out of her bedroom window. 

“Uhhhh, hi Peter,” Gabi says, and then turns her attention to Sam. “Hey Sam? What the actual fuck? You were literally crying cause Peter sent you that shirtless snapchat earlier.” 

“I wasn’t crying!” Sam protests to Gabi, and then softer to Peter. “Really, I wasn’t.” 

“I am coming down right now,” Gabi says, pulling her window closed before Sam can even get in a word of protest. 

“Well,” Sam says, “I guess I know what I’m doing the rest of tonight. I’ll text you?” 

“Yeah,” Peter says, “We can like, actually figure shit out tomorrow. About the date. That we are going on. Because we like each other.” 

“Cool,” Sam says, grinning dopily and reaching over to squeeze Peter’s hand once. “Also you really should leave before Gabi gets out here and starts interrogating you.” 

“Smart,” Peter says, squeezing Sam’s hand back once, before climbing back into the passenger side of Dylan’s car, just as Gabi emerges from her front door in a tracksuit and fuzzy socks, carrying a white plastic bowl of popcorn and pointing for Sam to come inside. 

Dylan offers Peter a subtle fist bump as he backs out of the driveway, and Peter must have the dopiest lovestruck look on his face because his mom declares, “Someone looks happy!” the moment he walks in. 

He’s still feeling kind of lovestruck the next morning, because despite not being a morning person in the slightest, and after staying up pretty late texting with Sam, he finds himself in a pretty cheery mood as he takes the early bus over to Hanover. 

Sam’s already in the tv studio sitting on one of the desks when Peter arrives — in fact he’s the only person in the tv studio, and he bounds down from where he’s sitting in order to give Peter the iced coffee from the tray of drinks sitting beside him. 

“Who’s the hot one for?” Peter asks, taking the first blessed sip of his ice coffee, three sugars, no milk. 

“Well, after last night I think I’m yours,” Sam says, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Hilarious,” Peter says. “I meant the hot drink.” 

“It’s for Christa,” Sam says, taking a sip from his own bright pastel orange Thai iced tea. 

“You going to try and bribe her for an interview with caffeinated beverages now?” 

“Not exactly,” Sam says, swinging his legs over the edge of the desk, “I was just thinking like, it was Christa’s idea to do the escape room and like, if she _did_ do the dicks, sure that’s kinda fucked but like, it’s also the whole reason we did the doc and those two things kind of turned out to be the best part of the year so…” 

“Really, that’s all you needed to make peace with Christa?” Peter asks skeptically. 

“Hey I’m a changed man,” Sam says. “Love will do that to you.” 

Peter rolls his eyes, but lets Sam reel him in, tilting his head up to make up for the slight height difference of Sam sitting on the desk. It dawns on him that maybe only their like, third kiss ever is happening in the Hanover High tv studio, but Peter kinda feels like after everything they did for the school this year they’re probably owed a few sneaky early morning kisses. 

Even if Peter comes on a little too strongly, Sam leaning back to counterbalance and knocking over Christa’s fair trade mocha latte, Sam’s olive branch spilling all over the desk and the floor and the two of them left to scrub it up with paper towels from the gym bathroom. 

But hey it’s the thought that counts, and even though his coffee plan was foiled, Sam still says a polite ‘good morning’ to Christa when she comes to sit at the anchor desk with Peter, and Sam gets up off of where he was sitting on the desk without needing to be asked twice, and goes over to chat with Randall and Dylan. 

Peter’s going through his show script and taking notes in the margins in red pen when Christa claps her hands and says “alright, okay everyone huddle up,” and Peter goes over to stand in the circle beside Sam, who is watching, bemused, as Dylan dramatically reenacts their triumphant last second escape. 

“ —So yeah everyone’s like shouting and Christa’s like, looking around on the floor and shit and then Sam is like ‘yo, it’s def the BIRTHDAY of the…’ um, you know…” 

“The mistress?” Sam prompts. 

“Yeah shit I was gonna call her a bimbo, but I knew that was wrong, anyways, our boy Sam is like, ‘yo it’s her birthday!’ right at the last second. So epic.” Dylan says, grabbing Sam enthusiastically by the shoulder and sort of, shaking him. Sam gives Peter an eyebrow raise and a little bemused smile. 

“Alright, okay, assignments,” Christa says, clapping her hands again to get everyone’s attention. “Sam, are you good to cover lunch menu today?” 

“Yeah for sure,” Sam says, rocking ever so slightly side to side, his arm just barely brushing against Peter’s every time he leans over to the right. Normally it’s the kind of thing Peter would index as a sign that Sam maybe likes him, and there’s something so perfectly pleasing about being able to tick the mental box very firmly yes. 

Christa finishes handing out assignments, looking up from her clipboard, “Alright, does anyone have any questions? Yeah Ming what’s up?” She says when Ming puts his hand up shyly. 

“Um, so wait, how did Sam know it was her birthday?” Ming says. 

“Wait, yeah, fuck how _did_ you know he’d made the combo her birthday?” Dylan says.

“Yeah that’s, that’s a really good point,” Peter says, realizing for the first time that he hadn’t really thought about how Sam was able to put that together at the last second. It wasn’t exactly an illogical conclusion to come through, but it had been pretty abrupt, especially with what had been happening at the time. 

“I think we’re getting a little off topic,” Christa says half-heartedly as Sam starts flushing bright red, first from the back of his neck and then quickly spreading up onto the rest of his face. 

“Just uh….just you know, deduction, and like...guessing,” Sam says stiltedly, followed by a long awkward pause, Phil and Emily exchanging a _very_ blatant series of glances, everyone else just looking generally unimpressed. 

“Alright, okay, so if that’s it,” Christa says, “Sam you might wanna change your phone password, and everyone else let's get in position.” 

Dylan gives Peter a huge thumbs up, following after Madison, camera in hand, as Randall starts to set up the main cam. 

“Do you really have my birthday as your phone password?” Peter asks, voice lowered, filled with a weird fizzy anxiety he can’t quite place. 

“Hahah, I do not...Anymore.” Sam says.

“Ah.” 

“Shut up,” Sam says voice laced with affectionate annoyance. 

“ _Sam! C’mon!_ ” Madison calls, already in the hall with Dylan, and Sam spares a quick glance over his shoulder before leaning in to kiss Peter hurriedly, so quickly that Peter doesn’t even close his eyes until Sam is already pulling away. 

“I’ll see you at lunch,” Sam says, and then he’s off, grabbing his microphone off the table and following Madison and Dylan into the hall. 

Peter shakes his head, tucking his show script under his arm and finding his place at the desk again, the fact that Sam had liked him enough to use his birthday as a phone password still fizzling gently under his skin. The reality still dawning on him that he and Sam are a _thing_ , maybe even...a boyfriend kind of thing sometime soon. 

“You good?” Christa says, adjusting her own notes in front of her. 

“Absolutely,” Peter says, and he more than means it, as Randall leans out from behind the camera, waiting to count them in with his fingers. 

Three. 

Two. 

One. 

Action. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to my brilliant co-conspirators/betas evol_love (Rachel) and youshallnotfinditso (Meg) for listening to me talk about American Vandal WAY too much in the last month. Also extra thanks to Meg who let me steal this brilliant title from her.


End file.
